


Living the Le Carre Life

by Cloudlb



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Eggsy Unwin, Gen, Haberdashery, Kingsman Training, Modern Gentleman's Armour, No Harry sorry-but we really don't need him for this, Slice of Life, Tailors being awesome, buttons, skillz - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudlb/pseuds/Cloudlb
Summary: Kingsman training involves more than one might think; all the other trainees are dicks (except Roxy); Eggsy's friends are suspicious; and Michelle is becoming a problem. Begins early in the first movie.Eggsy is a gentleman to his core, even if he doesn't realize it.





	1. Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for my non-native Brit-speak.

It was after Dining Hall and before Lights Out when Eggsy was cornered. He was sitting crosslegged on his cot with JB curled at his feet when Charlie and his stooges surrounded him. 

“So, Eggy—practicing to be a maid?” snickered Charlie.

Digby chimed in, “Yeah, what the fuck are you doing?”

Eggsy paused with his needle and thread in the air, and looked at them with the contempt they deserved. “What the fuck you think I’m doing? Ain’t ya got eyes in your head?”

“It looks like you’re . . . sewing.” Hugo said, almost puzzled. 

“Good observation. They’ll make a spy out of you yet.” Eggsy carefully threaded his needle through the shank of a button.

“But why are you sewing?" Hugo went on, apparently not fathoming anyone doing such a thing.

Roxy, coming in from the showers said, “You idiots. He’s just sewing a button back on. Leave him alone.”

***  
It had happened earlier that day during a run through the obstacle course. The button on the breast pocket of Eggsy’s siren suit got caught on some wire, tearing the placket slightly and popping the button off. Eggsy continued on through the course, (beating out everyone else’s run time, natch) but went back later to look for the button. 

He then went looking for a needle and thread, which was, surprisingly, pretty easy. After a strange look from Merlin, he was directed to a room on the third floor of the mansion, which held all sorts of tailoring paraphernalia, including needles and threads in several different sizes and colors. Eggsy eyed the rows of sewing machines with speculation, but contented himself with picking out the right thread to match his suit. 

***  
Eggsy looked up at his fellow candidates and the varying expressions of scorn, confusion, and support (by Roxy). He noticed more than a couple of missing buttons, torn belt loops, stains, and sagging trouser hems after several weeks of hard training. Even Roxy had two torn belt loops. Eggsy’s two Kingsman-issued siren suits on the other hand, were, if not pristine, at least whole and clean.

“Where did you learn to do that?” said Roxy mildly, shooting a glare at the guys. 

“Maybe his dad really was a tailor. Is that why you’re here, Eggy?” Charlie’s tone was snide, as usual.

Rolling his eyes, Eggsy said, “Unlike you lot, normal people don’t throw away their clothes ‘cause of missing a button. They repair ‘em.” He scoffed. “Even in the marines, we were expected to care for our own kit ourselves. What’s your excuse?” 

Although he tried not to let it get about, Eggsy took pride in keeping his clothes neat and clean. He had little enough anyway, and taking good care of what he had helped him get him through the bad times growing up. Even in his chav wear, Eggsy was always neatly put together: polos buttoned, jeans or trackies clean and fitting exactly the way he wanted, trainers blinding white, snapback canted just so. It was a kind of armour against the world (and didn't Eggsy appreciate the irony of that now). The second thing he did (after sending some money to his mum) when he realized that the Kingsman candidates actually got paid a fairly generous stipend during their months of training, was to buy some Jeremy Scott togs and the winged trainers. Okay, so he got them off Ebay and he couldn’t be 100 percent positive they were authentic, but they were aces anyway. Eggsy also couldn’t deny that the Kingsman suits were pretty fantastic – at least the way Harry wore them. He hoped he got the chance to wear one himself. 

Eggsy shook his head in exasperation. “How d’ya hope to wear the, uh, ‘modern gentleman’s armour’ if it looks like shite? What if you’re out in the field and your suit gets torn up before you can finish your mission. You just gonna let it flap around?”

“But – that’s what the actual tailors are for,” Digby protested. 

“Yeah, and we’re supposed to be fuckin’ tailors, ain’t we?” Eggsy snapped the thread with his teeth, and pulled on the button to make sure it was secure. “And no, my father weren't a tailor. He was a Royal Marine. And a Kingsman—or near as. He was killed at the end of his training. “

The others looked at each other nervously. Charlie said, “The training killed him?” They knew their first parachute dive was coming up. 

“Nah, it was on a mission. They tell me Da jumped on a grenade, saving the lives of the other Kingsman agents there.” Glaring at Charlie, Eggsy said, “and that’s how I got here, ya wanker. Not sucking the dick of my sponsor like you lot.” Glancing at Roxy, he clarified, “Not talking ‘bout you, Rox, ‘course.” 

“In fact,” Merlin announced, startling the group who hadn’t seen him come into the barracks, “he saved my life, and two others that day.” Merlin nodded toward Eggsy. “Lee Unwin would have made a fine Kingsman agent, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.” 

The boys looked pretty surprised at that, glancing at Eggsy with a grudging respect; even Charlie. Apparently the pleb had as much right to be there as any of them – maybe more. 

“Now,” Merlin clapped his hands together, “line up for surprise inspection. Let’s see how good you are at taking care of your equipment.” 

He winked at Eggsy where the others couldn’t see. Eggsy, of course, passed the inspection with flying colors. The others were all sent on late night field exercises and were forced to continue their training the next day on no sleep--training which took place in the room on the third floor with all the sewing machines. Eggsy was the only one not surprised.


	2. Haberdashery Has its Perks

The table accorded a good view of the well lit and bustling café--and of the somewhat less well lit but even more bustling London street outside. Eggsy’s eyes were sharp and his back was to the wall; his face was composed in a pleasant, relaxed expression, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The expression, posture, and vigilance were automatic by now, even when he wasn’t on the job. 

Eggsy was waiting to meet his friends Ryan and Jamal for a spot of breakfast before he had to go to the shop. There was a young girl pickpocketing the tourists on the corner, but it wasn’t his business. He watched as she nicked three Americans’ phones before he spotted Ryan and Jamal coming down the other side of the street. 

“Christ. I tol’ them someplace nice,” Eggsy thought, giving his friends a quick scan before standing to greet them. He deliberately chose someplace nice enough so that his bespoke Kingsman suit wouldn’t attract too much attention, but down market enough for his friends not to feel uncomfortable. The look in his friends’ eyes as they approached told him he hadn’t quite hit the mark. Fuck.

“All right, bruvs?” said Eggsy, standing up. 

“Oi, look at you, mate. Still the dandy, eh?” Jamal was smiling warmly, and Eggsy felt better. But Ryan was looking at him with distrust, even as he was shaking Eggsy’s hand and slapping him on the back. A flick of Eggsy’s eyes behind the glasses told him Ryan had a shiv in his sock. 

“Yeah, bruv, and since when did you start wearing glasses?” Ryan said.

Eggsy touched the corner of his glasses and made an exaggerated moue. “Don’t you think they make me look . . .”

“Like a daft git putting on airs?” Ryan jabbed. 

Eggsy sat back down at the table, and the others followed suit. “Fuck off – I was going fer sexy. It’s part of the image the shop wants me to show, and I’m off to the job after this. They want us to be 'gentlemen tailors' and they are proper serious about, too.” 

“At the tailor shop.” Jamal's voice was flat, scornful. 

Apparently, his friends still didn’t believe him, even months after V-Day. Eggsy supposed he didn’t blame them. It was getting harder and harder to explain his frequent absences, his injuries, and the overall change in his apparent status and indeed, himself, to his friends and family. And Jamal was always a quick one. Which was why he didn’t meet up with these friends too often. Eggsy wasn’t the kind of bloke who forgot his friends after a bit of good fortune, though. 

Eggsy countered with a cheerfully deliberate, “That’s right. Lots of fittings today.” Ignoring his friends’ looks, he went on, “These days, we’re getting a lot of business on Saturdays, because a lot of our customers are business people. The shop’s never been open on Saturdays before. Me and another one of the younger tailors are pushing for a bit of modernization.” This was an easy cover patter he and Roxy had perfected at various trade events. 

One of the things that surprised Eggsy the most about being a Kingsman agent and pretending to be a tailor was . . . actually pretending to be a tailor. Turns out the whole tailor thing was a pretty good cover for a spy. Lots of travel and lots of industry-related events at which the agents could mingle with the rich and notorious, even with Kingsman being the stodgiest of the stodgy. Eggsy didn’t really care much about the fashion and haberdashery stuff, but he could fake it well enough. Anyway, dressing up and showing off the bespoke suits was always fun. 

So--sewing. And working in the shop. He had the tailor thing down. 

Eggsy grinned. “Bet you never thought I’d be knowin’ the difference twixt chalk stripe and pinstripe, did ya bruvs?” Or, between oxfords and brogues, Eggsy added to himself.

“Well, it’s a good job, I guess, innit?” said Jamal, doubtfully. “You’re certainly posh enough now.”

Eggsy chose to ignore this, and the little voice that said he had indeed grown too posh. He was a Kingsman agent, and a gentleman, and his friends deserved his full attention. For now. “I’m sposed to be buying you some nosh, so how about it?”

“No pints here, I spose?” said Ryan sourly.

Eggsy gave him a long look. “Nah, but there’s tea. Can’t drink anyway, got a spot of flying this afternoon.”

Ryan scoffed. “They don’t make ya not drink to fly in a plane.”

Eggsy just gave them a wink. “They do if you’re the one flying it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are "chapters" only in my head, but there's one more to come.


	3. The Needle and the Damage Done

The house was wonderful, of course. It had been the former Lamorak’s, and had been “sanitized” of his things after his unfortunate head explosion. It was unbelievably spacious and posh to Eggsy’s eyes, but he loved having his mum and sister here under his roof. 

However, Michelle was becoming a problem. It was clear she was suffering from the years of abuse from Dean and from her own abuse of pills. She was shrill and disapproving whenever Eggsy left the house.

Worse, she had gotten suspicious pretty quickly. Eggsy was busy, of course, either going every day to the tailor shop, training (always), or traveling for missions. “Flogging the wares,” he’d say, in response to his mum’s questions, but the excuses were running thin and she was noticing little things that pinged her mum radar. Eggsy thought she was beginning to be a bit of a nag about it, frankly, although he knew it was just concern--and maybe partly the PTSD the entire world was suffering from. Still, he couldn’t deny that he had changed more than a simple tailoring job would warrant. V-Day and its aftermath, the missions, and the intensive training had all inevitably changed him.

During his candidacy, he hadn’t given much thought past his selection as an agent, being too focused on winning. And then there was that whole nearly-the-end-of-world thing. It turns out, though, that Kingsman don’t actually teach you the good stuff, like how to kill someone with a toothpick, until after becoming an agent. No sense in giving away all the secrets, then letting the almost-rans back into the world with that knowledge, Eggsy guessed. It made sense. 

So, he spent his days training when he wasn’t on missions; physical training, weapons, hand-to-hand combat skills, and spycraft, of course, but also languages, world wide culture and etiquette, and mechanics and aeronautics. And, of course, tailoring. 

Even from the very beginning. the candidates were given needle and thread and given a day to learn to sew; possibly – knowing Merlin – as a twisted test of gender attitudes or some other psychological shite, although Merlin had just said, “Fine motor dexterity is a useful skill. What if you had to defuse a bomb?” 

Eggsy thought he’d much rather defuse a bomb, but managed to piece together an acceptable garment. As an agent, though, he certainly hadn’t expected working in the shop and learning about fabrics and cutting and the actual process of crafting a tailored suit by hand, which turned out to be incredibly detailed and time consuming. 

Between learning French, Russian (and Swedish, because Tilde!), learning to fly, practicing social situations, and Kingsman combat training, he wished he didn’t have to learn the tailoring shit. But apparently it was “tradition” for the agents to acquire at least a minimum competency at catering to their clientele, and god forbid the Kingsman do anything against tradition. 

Given that his other training mostly involved learning to be an efficient and deadly assassin, Eggsy felt he could be forgiven the occasional mental disassociation. 

The expertise he was gaining paid off in surprising ways, though. One of the first things Eggsy noticed was an increased comfort with himself and the suits he was wearing so well. As Merlin said, “You have to learn to wear the suit, not the other way’ round.” Putting the suit and glasses on that first time--he’d never forget that feeling, as if he finally saw his true self when he looked in the mirror. The feeling only solidified as he acquired additional suits and more of the gentleman’s repertoire of accessories.

One of Eggsy’s big strengths was interacting with the customers, and it paid off handsomely. At first, some of the very proper gentlemen were taken aback by this brash young bloke. But with a combination of teasing, respect, discrete flirtation, and competence, Eggsy proceeded to charm his way around the shop, making the customers feel as if they were the most important people in the world during their fittings. Eggsy also developed a knack in helping the customers decide on color combinations – a talent he would have never suspected himself of having. 

As a result of all this, Eggsy made enough intelligence contacts and gained enough stolen intel in a few months, merely through working with the high-powered customers that patronized the shop (and a bit of sleight-of-hand), to warrant five missions. 

*** 

Michelle would ask him about his work, and he would answer with vaguely tailor-related things, but Eggsy could see she wasn’t buying it totally. After a month long stint in Russia, he had come back exhausted with a black eye and a deep knife wound which had him limping. His mother had barged into his room just as he was taking off his suit coat, exposing the double harness and the guns in their holsters. 

“What the hell are you doing with those in my house? Don’t you know what kind of trouble you could be in? And what does a tailor,” she was sneering now, “need with guns, anyway, eh?”

“Mum, calm down. “

“No, I will not calm down! You’re lying to me, and bringing guns into the house. You’re no fucking tailor. Do ye think I’m daft?”

Eggsy sighed, his shoulders drooping for just a moment. He had known this moment was coming. He turned his eyes on his mother and just looked at her, letting the wolf he had become surface in his eyes. Michelle paled, just a bit. 

Firmly, he said, “Sit down, Mum.” Eggsy guided her to sit on the edge of his bed. He sat down next to her. “Listen up, mum, and listen well.” Eggsy took a deep breath. “You can never ask me about my job. Understand? You have to stop asking me. There are things I can’t tell you. It’s classified, d’ya see? But just this once, you can ask me. Just this once, and never again, yeah?” 

“Oh, my god. This is like the scene in The Godfather! You’re a criminal, aren’t you?”

“No, mum. I’m not a criminal. I’m a tailor.” Although Eggsy conceded to himself, privately, that being a spy and assassin for a quasi –government, quasi-independent shadow agency could, in theory, be criminal behavior. 

Michelle started to protest. He held up a hand. “No, mum, listen to me. I am a tailor. I’m employed by Kingsman Tailors on Savile Row.” Eggsy gave her a stern look. “And yes, there’s a bit more too it. It’s that bit more that I can’t talk about.”

Michelle sighed. “Well, what can you tell me? If you tell me what you can, maybe I’ll back off. But you can’t expect me not to be concerned.”

Eggsy took a moment to consider what he could tell her. “Well, like I said, I’m not a criminal. I can only tell you this: I’m one of the good guys, and what I do is important. And I’m very good at it.” 

After a moment, he added, “I’m working for the greater good, Mum. And--I’m following Da’s legacy.”

Immediately, Michelle bristled. “And it got him killed.”

“Yes,” said Eggsy, flatly and seriously. “That’s why I’m doing it. You should be proud of him, Mum. I am.”

“So what’s all this about a tailor, then?” 

Eggsy tried an engaging grin. “Come ‘round the shop and I’ll show you. I’ll even ask my mate Roxy to help me. We can make you a suit.”

“Seriously? I mean, you actually do that?” 

“Yes, I do. Well, they’re training me. It takes a while, you know? Mostly I hang about in the shop and charm the customers.” And there was the cheeky grin her son always pulled. 

In a couple of months, after Michelle got out of rehab, Eggsy arranged new living quarters in the suburbs for his mother and sister. It was just better that way. 

****

Eggsy figured he’d be forever grateful for the tailoring practice, when, a few months later, he found himself huddled in a dark, frozen bunker sewing up a deep gash in Roxy’s thigh before she bled out. Fine motor skills, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks; thanks for reading. I don't post often, so if you'd like to leave a comment letting me know if you enjoyed this fic, that would be grand!


End file.
